Yesterday I had my gallbladder surgery. I feel one gallbladder lighter now! I had a strange reaction to the anesthesia, but nothing serious, and recovery seems to be progressing normally.
While waiting to be released from the hospital, I got a text from my mom saying my grandpa had passed away. It was expected, but it's been extremely hard on my family caring for him and watching his deterioration over the final days. I hope that with the grief there comes some sense of relief and that the healing process can begin soon.
My grandfather was the ultimate storyteller. He saw the funny in the everyday way people live their lives, the silly and unexpected things people do. This is the one trait I will take with me and hold close above all others - finding the joy in people and the sometimes strange, absurd things they do.
Grandpa was a big, Italian man who seemed to tower over everyone. He had large hands and wore a big, gold ring on his right hand, his wedding band on the left. He exuded intimidation and demanded respect but was equally loving and funny.
My father is the youngest of his four children, and his memories of his upbringing are a mix of those qualities, the good and the bad. I've heard the stories throughout my life about what type of father Grandpa was, and I know there's still pain there.
I wondered how my father would handle the range of emotions, the absence of closure, as he watched his father slowly pass away. How do you forgive?
My dad did it like this, and I took notes:
After they found out Grandpa had cancer, Dad started taking him fishing. There were some weekends Dad was just too tired to go, but he went anyway. I don't think it was time spent bringing up old memories - just quality time together.
I always want to be the talker, the fixer, and I'd encourage my dad to talk about his childhood with Grandpa, but he didn't. Even near the end, when the pain meds made Grandpa angry, and he lashed out. I knew my dad felt like he was 5 years old again, being intimidated by his father, but he handled it with such grace. I told him he should tell Grandpa that his feelings were hurt, but he didn't. His response was, "What will it change?"
I wanted my dad to have a voice and be able to speak up to his father, but maybe he was right. They had been rebuilding their relationship for years.
I realized that Dad forgiving grandpa wasn't one big "I'm sorry" moment. That's what
I would want. (In fact, if I never saw the person again but felt I was on good terms with them, I'd be happy.) But my father literally lived forgiveness, every time he went fishing when he didn't feel quite up to it, every time they made dinner plans with my grandparents or arranged a family reunion, and each day he took care of Grandpa until the end.
So, when Grandpa's pride and pain medicine got the best of him, and he yelled at Dad, he let it go.
When Dad said, "What will it change?" It wasn't him giving up on changing a man who was forever a "bad father." It was accepting all the good and bad in a person, realizing you can't change it, and choosing to focus on the positive.
This is the true power of forgiveness. And maybe that's why Dad is the best of Grandpa - the prankster, the storyteller. He loves people and finds humor in simple life moments. He loves so fiercely, and if it's difficult for him to show it, you wouldn't know. He talks with me for hours and never denies me my "I'm sorry" moments, though he gracefully shows me that they're not needed.
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Recently, after everything we'd been through this year, Dad confided in me that he was struggling with his faith. Isn't it amazing that when you feel most lost, you can unknowingly be guiding others? Because of his grace, strength, and forgiveness, I know we will get through this, that we'll all be okay, and that our bond as a family is only growing stronger.
Grandpa & E:
My doctor prescribed me some Vicodin before my surgery in case I had another gallbladder attack. I never used it so decided to take it before using my new prescription post-surgery.
